


Merry Christmas, Smokescreen

by InuShiek



Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: Bondage, Established Relationship, Fingering, M/M, NSFW, Slash, Sticky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-22
Updated: 2014-01-22
Packaged: 2018-01-09 14:28:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1147069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InuShiek/pseuds/InuShiek
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Optimus frets over what gift he could give Smokescreen in observance of Christmas, so he covertly hacks into the rookie's personal data pad. The sorts of images, video, and text he finds there gives him a rather naughty idea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Merry Christmas, Smokescreen

**Author's Note:**

> written for [ask-smokescreen](http://ask-smokescreen.tumblr.com) over on tumblr because he keysmashes so well when presented with porn of himself. (he's a total kinky perv, he just won't admit it)

“O-Optimus! What are you-” a broad finger over his mouth cuts him off as the larger mech continues to press him backwards towards the Prime’s berth. Smokescreen can only obey- too confused to really resist. Every time the pair has interfaced, it was always with Smokescreen being the aggressor, or with Optimus cautiously hinting at it until Smokescreen blatantly asked.

This time, Optimus had cornered Smokescreen, who had just gotten back from a patrol route, and all but herded him towards his quarters. At first the white and blue mech had thought something was wrong, but when he registered the heat emanating from the Prime’s frame and his darkened optics Smokescreen had begun sputtering at the abrupt change in demeanor. To go from being very careful to never impose on Smokescreen, to pressing him face down on the berth and pinning him there with a strong hand between his doorwings…

When he feels a stasis cuff lock over one of his wrists, a surprised burst of static escapes Smokescreen. “What are you  _doing_?” he asks, finally trying to squirm out from underneath Optimus.

Resting just enough weight onto Smokescreen to keep him firmly pinned but not damage him at all, Optimus locks his other wrist in the cuffs behind his back. The Prime leans down, venting hot air over one of Smokescreen’s audio sensors, “I am giving you your Christmas gift, Smokescreen.”

“My what?”

“It is customary,” Optimus begins with an amused tone, “To give those you care about a gift during this particular holiday.”

Smokescreen tries to turn when he hears the larger mech dragging something out from under the berth,  but he can’t get a good look before the Prime’s hand in on the back of his helm and pressing it back down onto the berth. The white mech can only hope Optimus didn’t notice the sudden increase in his core temperature.

“I was uncertain as to what I could have given you with the limited resources we have access to, so I hacked into your personal terminal in order to get a better idea of the sort of things you desired,” the Prime’s voice is still cheery even as he settles himself over Smokescreen’s thighs and uses both of his hands to begin weaving what the white mech now realizes is steel cable around the cuffs, “Imagine my surprise when I found several images of….unconventional forms of interpersonal activities that you had saved for later review.”

Smokescreen shivers when Optimus tugs on the cable, drawing his wrists higher on his back, before the large mech carefully begins to wind it around his chassis. “That stuff is private,” Smokescreen tries to distract the Prime and tries his best not to wonder just how Optimus got so skilled at this. The steel cable is looped underneath his chassis, maintained at a constant tension, and Optimus never falters or hesitates.

“My apologies,” Optimus smiles, “But I believe I am about to make it up to you.”

The smaller mech gasps when Optimus finally winds the steel cable around the base of his doorwings once, forcing them to flare out, before securing it out of his reach so he has no real hope of freeing himself. “Th-This is your idea of making it up to me?” he mentally berates himself for stuttering when his frame suddenly becomes much hotter.

The only response Optimus gives is a quiet laugh as he easily moves Smokescreen farther onto the berth. The Autobot leader shifts until he is kneeling between the white mech’s legs- one hand grasping his hips. With a deep rumble from his engine, Optimus’s other hand traces its way up the brightly glowing lines on Smokescreen’s legs until he finally moves on to toy with the seams of his panel.

A rev of his engine and a quiet click signal the opening of Smokescreen’s panel- exposing his wet valve.

Optimus holds Smokescreen still while he gently traces the rim of Smokescreen’s valve with one of his digits. The smaller mech’s hands curls into fists as he tries to press into the contact, and the Prime smiles when he the sound of hastily aborted cooling fans reaches his audio sensors. “You are not fooling anyone, you know,” he teases lightly as he slides a single digit into Smokescreen’s valve.

With a burst of static, Smokescreen grudgingly lets his vents whir online as he rocks his hips as best as he can with the Prime’s strong grip still keeping him mostly in place. Optimus teases his valve for a few long moments, then his finger is gone. The mech did research and pinned him down to the berth and teased him and then just  _stops_  when things were getting good? Smokescreen manages to kick the Prime’s leg in retaliation.

“You are being oddly quiet, Smokescreen,” Optimus says almost conversationally, pretending not to notice the rather halfsparked kick, “I am glad I chose not to employ a gag.”

“What!?”

That was the reaction Optimus wanted. The Prime’s frame heats up considerably as Smokescreen’s valve releases more lubricant, doorwings wriggling, while curses fall from the smaller mech’s mouth.

Optimus transfers finger that had been occupying Smokescreen’s valve into the mech’s mouth, pressing down on his glossa to silence him. “Though you may change my mind,” he rumbles, and he doesn’t miss the shiver that runs through the rookie’s frame nor the distinct rev of a high-performance engine, “I will stop if you truly wish it, but I do not believe that to be the case.” Pulling his wet digit free of Smokescreen’s mouth, he trails it along the bottom edge of one of the mech’s doorwings. The appendage hitches at the contact, and Smokescreen allows himself a quiet grunt.

“You didn’t waste any time in getting me to this point, why hesitate now?” Smokescreen asks, certainly  _not_  implying that he wanted Optimus to just spike him already because the restraints, loss of control, and teasing touches are making his valve ache in need. No.

“I am waiting,” the Prime replies calmly. He pulls Smokescree’s hips up until his valve is pressed against Optimus’s still-closed panel, then moves his servo from the mech’s slim hips to his other doorwing. He allows himself a pleased rumble, deciding that he rather likes the sight of the smaller mech so vulnerable beneath him- legs spread, panel open, doorwings quivering, vents whirring quietly,  optics dark, weight settling on his chest and shoulders due to his hips being elevated so much.

Smokescreen fails to silence the quiet moan as his spike finally pressurizes now that it isn’t being pressed into the berth, and he grinds his hips back into the Prime’s. “Waiting for what?” he pants, doorwings pressing back into strong servos as much as the steel cabling wrapped around them will allow.

Smiling, Optimus works his blunt fingers expertly into the hinges on Smokescreen’s back. “For you,” he pauses as the small mech twitches, “To relax.”

“I  _am_  relaxed!”

Optimus chooses not to point out the fact that Smokescreen tensed up even as he spoke. Instead, one of the red and blue Autobot’s servos returns to Smokescreen’s dripping valve, and he rocks two of his digits in without warning.

With a strangled groan, Smokescreen spreads his legs wider.

“Hmm,” the Prime begins thrusting and scissoring his fingers, “Perhaps I chose the wrong method.”

“Wh-What?” the white and blue mech gasps, trying to rock his hips to match those fingers.

“Instead of teasing you until you submit,” he pauses to release a quiet groan when Smokescreen’s valve ripples around his fingers, “Perhaps simply overloading you multiple times will achieve the same outcome.”

Smokescreen’s own fingers grope blindly for something to cling to when a wire in his doorwing hinge is pinched gently while another of Optimus’s fingers slides into him. “Primus,” he gasps, beginning to care less and less about any sounds he makes, “W-Why?”

“Three reasons. The first is that it is a holiday where it is customary to give some sort of gift,” Optimus curls his fingers and presses a node he is very familiar with. Static slips from Smokescreen as he all but writhes in Optimus’s lap. “Second,” he continues when the smaller mech has regained some composure, “You have been increasingly tense as of late- especially when returning from uneventful patrols. Lastly, I have been wondering how exactly I could inform you of my rather unusual…eccentricities. Finding those images on your terminal was what brought all three together.”

When the larger mech sees Smokescreen open his mouth to reply, he pinches another wire deep in that same hinge as he thrusts his fingers as deep into the rookie’s valve as he can- spreading his fingers wide as he does.

The overload took Smokescreen by surprise. His optics short out, his squirms to press his valve further onto those digits, and his doorwings nearly vibrate.

Optimus revs his engine, though it’s drowned out by Smokescreen’s own engine and loud cries, as the smaller mech thrashes though the overload. Of course, the fact that the Prime hasn’t stopped rubbing the clenching valve walls probably isn’t helping Smokescreen calm down.

Gasping for more cool air to aid his struggling vents, the white mech finally collapses back down onto the berth- a quivering pile of metal.

Removing his fingers from both Smokescreen’s doorwing joint and valve, Optimus runs a soothing hand down the mech’s spinal strut before he grasps his hips.

Smokescreen doesn’t so much as reboot his optics as Optimus shifts- lifting the white mech’s hips until his knees are no longer touching the berth. It’s only when he hears the sound of the Prime’s panel finally opening that he really stirs. “P-Please…” he pants, feet sluggishly scrabbling at the berth as he forces his optics to power back up.

“’Please’ what?” Optimus urges, rising onto his knees and grinding his spike against Smokescreen’s plating.

With his face being pressed into the berth by his own weight, Smokescreen cannot turn to get a proper look at his Prime- only a glance out of the corner of his optic. “Please…don’t stop now,” he shivers, wanting to feel the rush of not being in control of anything again and far beyond caring about what he must look like, “Just frag me.”

“Merry Christmas,” is all he says before he sheathes his spike in Smokescreen’s welcoming valve.


End file.
